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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25975141">and now the surface ripples</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodInTheFields/pseuds/BloodInTheFields'>BloodInTheFields</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Canon Divergent, Character Death, F/F, Flash Fic, Technically there's no Tissaia in this</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:40:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25975141</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodInTheFields/pseuds/BloodInTheFields</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s been scouring the Continent, desperate for a cure for her barrenness when word reaches her.</p><p>Tissaia de Vries is dead.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>and now the surface ripples</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Guess this flash week was the perfect opportunity to write some short angst!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She’s been scouring the Continent, desperate for a cure for her barrenness when word reaches her.</p><p> </p><p>Tissaia de Vries is dead.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t register right away. After all, it makes no sense for the mighty Rectoress to simply die. She’s a pillar, unmoving, withstanding, strong. It takes Triss Merigold coming to fetch her in Rinde for the news to sink in. Yennefer, who had unconsciously returned to the last place she’d seen Tissaia all those years ago, stands numbly in her room as Triss recounts the story of how it happened. Yennefer doesn’t pay much attention. On autopilot she opens a portal on Triss’ request and both women step through it to find themselves in front of Aretuza. The place looks sinister.</p><p> </p><p>When they enter the main hall, voices of the dozens of mages there quieten. All eyes are on Yennefer. She’s the only one who’s never set foot in Aretuza again after her departure for Aedirn. She ignores them, finds Sabrina in a corner talking to who she assumes to be Philippa. Triss begins to make her way through the crowd but Yennefer stays behind. Finally, she turns on her heels and exits the room, pretending not to hear the chatter starting up again.</p><p> </p><p>Yennefer finds herself standing in front of Tissaia’s quarters. She scoffs at her hesitance and pushes the door open with a quick spell. The spacious room is dark—night fell an hour ago—and with just a few words she mutters, all the candles light up at once. The door closes softly behind her and she leans against it. She’s never been in here before. It smells like Tissaia.</p><p> </p><p>Somehow, that’s what triggers her memory and Yennefer slides down until she’s sat on the cold floor as her mind is assaulted with images upon images of Tissaia, and of herself. A young Yennefer, rebellious and angry, facing an impassive Tissaia. Oh, how she’d hated her back then! The Rectoress represented everything she’d thought she could never be: beautiful, powerful, intelligent, respected. Even now, sixty years later, Yennefer still feels that pang of jealousy. She shakes her head morosely. Jealous of a dead woman? How pathetic.</p><p> </p><p>She thinks back on their last encounter in Rinde. She’d been harsh. Still too naïve and hurt to realize Tissaia hadn’t meant to antagonize her, that she’d offered her help in the best way that she could. But the selfish streak in Yennefer hadn’t let her see that back then. Now, she wishes she’d reacted differently. Perhaps, with time, she could have earned Tissaia’s respect and admiration.</p><p> </p><p>She gets up. It won’t do to wallow in regrets now. Decisions were made, words were spoken. That’s all there is to it. Yennefer shuffles through the room and stops in front of the small desk where Tissaia most likely used to write her letters. The drawers are locked and she only hesitates briefly before using magic to unlock them. What’s Tissaia going to do anyway? Haunt her? In them, she finds nothing of interest. Old correspondence between her former mentor and some faceless names she doesn’t recognize. She sighs.</p><p> </p><p>Her eyes settle on the bed for a moment and she forces them away. Thinking of a sleeping Tissaia makes her heart ache in ways it shouldn’t. A few steps to the right and Yennefer is standing in front of something hidden beneath a beige sheet. This time there’s no hesitation and she pulls the sheet away to see what treasure it conceals.</p><p> </p><p>Paintings. Yennefer has to take a step back in surprise. Tissaia painted? In all the years she’d spent in Aretuza, she’d never known that. Never a hint of paint on the other woman’s clothes or fingers. With trembling hands, she approaches again and touches the edge of the unframed canvas. There are several others behind it. One by one, she examines them. Tissaia was talented, though Yennefer supposed after so many years to practice it isn’t really unexpected.</p><p> </p><p>Landscapes, mostly. Bright colors for the warm summer days, contrasting sharply with the cold and greyish winters. Tissaia had painted it all. When she’s seen most of them, she almost stops but a painting grabs her attention. She recognizes what’s on the canvas. Vengerberg. A pig pen. A girl with purple eyes. She stumbles back. Surely she saw wrong.</p><p> </p><p>But the painting doesn’t lie. It’s her, her deformities, and defiant look in her eyes. Tissaia had immortalized their first meeting by putting it on a canvas, with colors. Behind this one, Yennefer discovers another. <em>Rinde</em>. Them in front of the mirror, with Tissaia’s hand on her shoulder. How did the woman capture that moment so well? There’s the hint of a smile playing on her thin lips that Yennefer had noticed back then and chosen to ignore. Now she curses herself. She should have taken the time to talk to Tissaia. To truly hear her.</p><p> </p><p>“You found them.”</p><p> </p><p>The voice startles her and she turns towards the door swiftly. Triss is standing in the doorway, a soft look in her eyes. She steps forward until she’s right next to Yennefer, arm brushing lightly against her companion’s. Yennefer’s attention is back on the last painting and she finds it blurry. When she blinks to clear her vision there’s tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Triss doesn’t mention them and for that, she’s grateful.</p><p> </p><p>“You can have them. The paintings. I think she would have wanted you to have them.”</p><p> </p><p>Yennefer nods, not trusting herself to speak. Triss stays. She remains silent, only offering a gentle and comforting caress on her friend’s back. But soon she bids Yennefer goodnight and leaves her alone. Alone with her thoughts and memories and regrets she fails to push back.</p><p> </p><p>When exhaustion finally takes over, Yennefer chances a look at the bed and feels drawn to it. Boots and dress come off slowly, with some difficulty. And then she lays there, paintings surrounding her, and lets the ghost of Tissaia’s flowery perfume lull her to sleep.</p>
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